


It's Called Stress Relief

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Crossdressing, Lace Panties, M/M, Porn, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a literal year and a half since I wrote a PWP so here’s something to rectify this. Fancy underwear and a strap-on are involved. Merry early Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called Stress Relief

It’s not uncommon to feel this way, he believes. Like a dormant volcano, with the veins of magma like blood drudging below the rocky surface, sleeping. Like the tectonic plates in his skeleton are shifting restlessly, like the surface can’t quite hold without quaking. Iron bars in a skyscraper, heating and boiling over from cool grey to red, red hot and warping the skeleton of the tower. It’s huge. It’s itchy. It’s stress. Renji wants it out.

He wants it out so much, like he could make an incision in his chest. Right in the middle of of his ribcage and tear it open until his bones spread like a wingspan. Renji would dip his fingers into his flesh and down, down and pry out the frustration and the anxiety like the pit in a peach. Something small, and hard and brittle that can be thrown away. Feel that adrenaline of being destroyed from the inside out, the thrill and the passion of being risen from the dead like a dusty, dying star lit into a powerful black hole.

Of course, this method is problematic, so Renji can’t follow through. He gets the best kind of replacement, though, once he works up the will to ask for him.

Something gets destroyed one way or another, when it’s Izuru’s teeth on his neck and Izuru’s nails cutting into his skin in a way that leaves shallow half-moon marks up and down his back, his waist, his hips, scrabbles down his abs and thighs in crescent indents like mountain ranges on a map. A part of him- a part that he doesn’t mind getting ruined- gets knocked down when he lies down, and when the coltish lines of Izuru’s thighs wrap around his hips.

Renji’s not blushing. Not pouting when Izuru gives him that dickish little smile that looks sweet as sugar and only accompanies the actions that are anything but, and slides his hands down Renji’s pants. Fingers like skeleton keys take heaping handfuls of shihakusho and untuck them from Renji’s hakama, his top spreading open over his chest for each knobbly knuckle of Izuru’s fingers to feel the bump and curve of his muscles. It tickles a little and Renji squirms, and for a second under Izuru’s liquid gaze he feels as if he’s pinned behind glass, and there’s something uncomfortable and deeply, deeply exciting about being on display when his audience is all cool, curious gaze and pleased little smirk and inquisitively roaming fingers that trace up and down Renji’s tattoos and his chest like hieroglyphs are printed into his skin.

Shifting his shoulderblades, Renji wiggles until Izuru palms slide back down his hips and that voice like nightshade hushes him and Renji goes very still. His hands tense and clench, feeling awkward just splayed around him to clutch at air, and he wants to move them but when he shifts too much Izuru shushes him again, this time more demanding, and gets a gratified, stunning kind of smile when Renji goes back to lying still and Not Pouting. Izuru’s teeth are white and pearlescent, and his smile is sharp enough to cut skin and slide right through bone. The dim not-quite darkness paints his skin a silver grey like a watercolor painting and he is impossibly, almost frighteningly beautiful. Renji is so full of love he could bleed it.

He hears the slide, feels it against his skin when Izuru tugs down his hakama inch by agonizing inch until its halfway down his hips, just low enough to see fringes of black lace edging around the jagged lines of his tattoos. Long fingers idly play with the lace, picking at it and toying with the little white bow on the middle. Renji feels heat ignite in his face so hot he goes dizzy from it, brows furrowed and jaw clenched entire body coiled like a fist, and Izuru murmurs something from above him that Renji doesn’t quite hear but can make some educated guesses about. Izuru has an infuriating look on his face that might be more appropriate if he were playing with a particularly tiny and adorable kitten rather than with the panties of one of Soul Society’s most boisterous warriors. Renji gets the impression that this must be what the lion feels like when exposing its belly to the liontamer.

Pale hands continue to pick at the lace for a while, just long enough for Renji to get beyond impatient. The tips of Izuru’s fingers skate under the fabric a few times, hooking the waistband around his fingers and or darting around the inside of Renji’s thighs, only to pull back seconds later. As if Izuru were shy, or trying to linger on this moment to preserve it, and Renji resists the urge to feel pleased about that possibility.

He’s unprepared for Izuru’s palm to drag down over his groin in a flair of friction that’s almost agonizing, delicate material rubbing against Renji’s skin, soft and textured and he inhales loudly, the struggle of his own throat searching for oxygen roaring in his ears. He can’t think but he can move, hips flexing and bouncing off the mattress and pushing directly into the heel of Izuru’s hand. The blond’s other hand, the prosthetic one, brushes down Renji’s leg before stopping to rub his thigh soothingly, and Izuru’s lips kiss the junction of Renji’s knees before his legs fall apart of their own accord and Renji is incredibly exposed, incredibly indecent, and incredibly hungry for Izuru to touch him more.

The world spins sideways and Renji swears he can actually feel his hands and feet go numb from blood rushing between his legs and settling heavily in his core. He hardly even noticed how hard he was until Izuru had him in his hand and he aches, he’s burning with pleasure and he swears that Izuru must know it.

Sweat gathers on Renji’s brow, and he finally moves his hands in order to wipe his forehead with his wrist, or maybe just give him some semblance of privacy because when he looks back up he sees Izuru leaning over him, pretty and powerful and strands of hair the color of liquid gold framing the delicate lines of his face. Just looking at him gives Renji a sense that he’s being impaled straight through his heart. To an only slightly lesser extent, it also gives him the sense that he might cum in his panties, and wow thats a thought Renji never really assumed he would have to contemplate.

And then Izuru squeezes, and Renji’s body lurches from the inside out like a fist is wrapping around every part of his body, even muscle and vein and cell rocking like a thunder-rattle. A sonic boom.

He must have been moaning or keening or whining or something because Izuru softens his grasp and his neck stretches so he can crane down and press his lips to Renji’s abdomen, breaking the kiss to grant Renji praise, approval for being so good and wonderful, and Renji’s heart is free-falling inside his chest cavity. Air is electric, and he’s breathing hot flashes of lightning that bounce off the walls of his lungs.

Renji hears it himself this time, the dejected noise that rips clean from his throat when Izuru releases his grasp and pulls away. The soft relief of Izuru’s cool skin, his solid grasp of comfort and his soft kisses are moving elsewhere and at this very moment Renji might truly believe that this is the worst thing that has ever happened in his life. Feeling returns to his fists enough to clench them, control enough to buck his hips up and be frustrated when he finds only air. He looks desperate and whiny and he doesn’t care, he wants that friction back, he wants Izuru, and he wants it right the fuck now-

So he’s rather taken aback when Izuru is ducking into his field of vision again, smug expression fractured and instead looking surprised and amused at warranting such a dramatic reaction. Renji can’t blame him, he’d be surprised, too. Then again, he often manages to surprise himself. This time he gratefully receives Izuru’s presence, without the former pretence of acting sturdy or resilient. He let’s Izuru slide his hands under his ass, fingers pressing into soft flesh in a way that draws warblier noise from Renji that he would ever have any reason to admit in this lifetime. He lets Izuru lift up his hips until his ankles are supporting his lower body as his ass is in the air so Izuru can finally slip off the black panties. To Renji’s lack of surprise, they’re damp with precum, and Izuru slides them down ink-striped thighs and leaves them hanging around one ankle. But before Renji has time to consider if this particular choice is out of laziness, a display of dominance, or just because it really is a nice pair of underwear and may be one of the nicest articles of clothing Renji still owns and it would be a shame to misplace them, his attention is brought more immediately to the prodding between his legs.

Renji’s read this book enough times to know how the story goes, how to lift his legs until he has to stop himself from squeezing Izuru between his thighs as long, thin, slickened fingers glide in and out. And it feels sort of creepy at first, just because thats the feeling this particular part gives him, being entered and opened up. Along the frame of an entire body that’s mostly composed of hard muscle and mottled scars, there’s still a part of him that’s soft and warm, and it blows his mind away that Izuru is here with him, and Renji has never been so physically and emotionally intimate with another person in his entire life than with this person. And this surprisingly sappy though strikes him just as the fingers get traded in for something much thicker and definitely not belonging on Izuru’s body.

At that point he finally notices the sound of the strap-on harness rattling a little, the sound of metal clinking and the straps creaking having been muffled slightly under the racket of Renji’s own heavy breathing. He’s hearing some huffing from Izuru too, his chest heaving and little puffs that are quiet but definitely there. The even level of his face is gone, replaced by a deep pink bleeding through his cheeks and down the delicate column of his neck to his chest. There’s a focal kind of concentration in Izuru’s eyes now, flat and focused and his hair is drenched with sweat at the roots. Izuru rolls his hips and Renji’s perception of reality bursts like a soap bubble.  
The waves are crashing inside Renji’s stomach and the coil in his core is wound tighter and tighter, and Renji feels fucking exhausted and livid at the exact same time. He near lunges with hands curled into claws, taking fistfuls of Izuru’s shoulder the valley of his slender back and sinking the blunt end of his nails in as deep as they will go, deep until he feels something wet and gummy under his nails but not as much as he feels his body shaking like every molecule in his body is on fire. He’s wild and lively and he’s getting fucked and it’s so good, so good he could sink his teeth into Izuru’s neck deep enough to rip him apart and eat him whole, but instead he just bites hard to bruise and rakes his fingers down Izuru’s body like he’s clinging to the edge of a canyon. He looses his grip on one hand, gone enough that he can’t quite get it back.  
Either on purpose or just in the process of trying to reclaim some balance, Izuru’s fingers tangle with his and the next moment they’re intertwined, gripped solidly and while Renji certainly doesn’t think his sword-trained grasp is anything to dismiss, it had nothing on the power in Izuru’s grip, the way his hand squeezes as if he’s hanging on to a lifeline. This of all things pushes Renji over the edge, all sappy and sentimental and utterly wrecked enough that he’ll be feeling that sting tomorrow for certain. At least it wasn’t in his underwear.

It takes him a while to let go of Izuru’s hand.


End file.
